


signed in triplicate

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, JUST KISS ALREADY, Pining, SHIELD has forms for everything, Sex Pollen, Skye's huge crush on Coulson, Slow Burn, Stupid References, but i lowkey ship bobbi/jemma a LOT, crack with feelings, dollhouse refs can you find em, flirting via breathing the same air as each other, flirting via candy, flirting via fighting, hopefully it's also still kind of funny, i lowkey ship bobbi/jemma, jemma simmons human screwball, seriously though look at jemma's clothes and tell me she wouldn't be the best femme Eleven ever, these two orphan babes, this was also just a halloween thing, this was supposed to be a funny story but it grew feelings, this was supposed to be a short fluffy thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out the worst part of mission is the endless paperwork.</p><p> </p><p>"You know what," Skye says, putting things in play for Jemma's brilliant plan (or at least the half of it that Jemma's convinced will fix Skye's problem). "I have an idea."</p><p>"Oh yes?" Coulson asks.</p><p>"Yeah," she says, still chewing her pen and lounging back in her chair. "I challenge you to a paperwork competition. You lose? You show up in full Captain America costume. WW2 era, not modern-day. Including the shield."</p>
            </blockquote>





	signed in triplicate

It's Coulson who raises it, because of course it is.

"Skye, my office. We need to talk."

"Sure, Coulson, no worries, Coulson, I've just got back to base, Coulson," Skye snarks, peeling off her tac vest and prodding cautiously at her ribs. She winces at the bruise, but she'll live. He flicks her a concerned look, so brief she could have imagined it (except she hasn't) and she gives him a reassuring nod. "All good, I just took a hit, nothing's broken."

"You want Simmons to check you over first?" he asks, blandly solicitous.

"No, I'm fine," she says, follows him into his office. "What's up?"

"What's  _up_ ," he replies, handing her a folder, "is your incredibly subpar paperwork."

"My paperwork," she repeats flatly. "You called me into your office immediately post-mission saying  _we needed to talk_  and you want to talk about my paperwork." _  
_

"It's important!" he says defensively, and she narrows her eyes. "Look, you had an agent take out the power to half a city block last week and you didn't file the D330 form at all. Your field reports are half-complete, and I don't think you've even provided a single brief about the new recruits you're SO for. Pick up your game. Don't make me tell you again." Skye narrows her eyes harder, crosses her arms.

"I'm out there in the  _field_ what feels like every damn day, Phil," she reminds him, and the way he looks up, she  _knows_ he's about to remind her that it's 'Coulson or Director', which she is just not here for. "This new wave of gifted individuals - you and I both know we have no idea where it's coming from but it's more important than your stupid paperwork." He sighs, his shoulders slumping.

"I know you're working hard," he admits, "but it's important, Skye, just try and get on top of it. Here. Don't forget to file the FA100 Injured Agent form about your injury today, once Simmons clears you."

"I'll get  _right on that_ ," she snaps, "just as soon as I stop  _being the injured agent_." She storms out, and knocks his stapler off his desk with her vibrations as she goes, because yeah, she's petty, and his criticism has stung.

" _I know that was you_ ," he calls after her, and she smirks.

 

+

 

"It's so  _stupid_!" she's still complaining later that night, to anyone who will listen. Admittedly, she's three beers down and even Fitz has stopped making any sympathetic noises. "I mean, I know we're working for a giant quasi-governmental organization and we  _are_ the scary men in suits but how much red tape does one organization actually need?"

"For a while I made the red tape," May tells her, deadpan, and Skye snorts with laughter which trails to an awkward end as Coulson comes in.

"Uh, hi," she says, because she's not actually a total jerk. "You want a beer?"

"No, I'm good," he replies, barely glancing at her, then turns to Mack and Fitz. "How're the repairs on the new Bus coming along?"

"... _right_ ," Skye mutters to herself. Her bunk's suddenly seeming like a better place to be. She gets up, tosses her empty bottle to the bin with quick accuracy. Unfortunately the move also strains her ribs, and she can't help letting out a yelp at the stab of pain.

"Skye? You okay?" May asks, and Skye shakes her head impatiently, a hand on her ribcage.

"Just a bruise from today, it caught me by surprise," she says, turns to go, and May catches her arm, gently raises the hem of her shirt.

"Looks a bit more than just a bruise. I think you might have a broken rib," she says. Skye shrugs.

"I've had worse, right? It'll be fine."

"Doctor Simmons," Coulson bites out, and when Skye looks over at him he looks furious. "Since Agent Skye cannot follow  _basic orders_ , please take her down to the infirmary and look her over.  _Now._ "

"Great," Skye mutters again, sets her jaw and goes with Jemma without another word.

 

+

 

"Well, it  _is_ a broken rib, but you're all taped up, and I'm sure you'll be right as rain in no time," Jemma tells her kindly. Skye winces again, pulls back on her sweater, and then ruins her cool exterior by promptly welling up in tears. Jemma looks briefly startled and then pulls Skye into a gentle hug. "There, there, it's not so bad," she says, only a little awkwardly, and Skye laughs shakily.

"Sorry, Jem, I... it's been a long day, I guess. And Coulson didn't have to be such a  _jerk_ ," she says, immediately showing her hand. It's okay. Jemma's got her back.

"I think I know what might help," Jemma replies, raising an eyebrow. She opens the lab freezer, pushes aside the various deeply weird tissue samples and chemical vials, and pulls out a carton of Haagen-Dazs vanilla swiss almond. "Nobody ever finds this, it's really the perfect hiding spot. Ice cream and complaining in my bunk?"

"Yeah," Skye sniffs, giving Jemma a grateful smile as she quickly wipes away her tears with the tattered cuffs of her sweater. "Yeah,  _please_."

"What's  _with_  you and the Director, anyway? You're so  _grouchy_ with each other lately," Jemma asks curiously, and Skye sighs, morosely eats a bite of ice cream.

"I kissed him," she admits, because Jemma's the closest she has to a girlfriend, and they're already hiding in Jemma's bunk in their pajamas eating ice cream out of the carton, so they might as well talk about their love life too.

"...Oh!" Jemma says, looking very surprised. "But then, why..."

"Why the  _sudden antagonism_?" Skye finishes the sentence. "I kissed him like three months ago, and it was  _really great_ , for approximately ten seconds, and then he was pulling away saying how we needed to 'maintain compartmentalization' and how it 'didn't feel right so soon after my trauma' and since then he's been  _relentlessly professional_  about  _everything_. He doesn't even flirt-banter with me anymore," she concludes, shoves another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

"Oh  _Skye_ ," Jemma replies, patting her on the shoulder and sounding soothingly sympathetic. "I'm sure the Director  _likes you_ , though, I mean, you just have to look at his face and the way he talks about you basically  _all of the time_ , it's not exactly subtle and I'm not even... I don't understand why he's so..."

"Such a stick-in-the-mud? Yeah." Skye sighs. She looks up, catches a look skating across Jemma's face that she  _knows_ is a "I also have romantic problems" expression. "What's with  _your_ sad little face, huh? Boy troubles of your own?"

"Girl troubles, actually," Jemma admits. "It's Bobbi. She's so dreamy and beautiful and impressive, Skye, and I just, I can't even  _talk_ to her, my brain short-circuits when she's around. She comes in for medical on her knee every couple of days and I called her  _Miss Morse,_ I am clearly not cut out for flirting with anyone of any kind! I have  _two PhDs_  and I can't even ask her what tv she likes because my brain overheats when I'm around her and her shiny lovely hair."

"I feel you," Skye agrees glumly. "I'm all heartsick over a guy who's basically a robot for paperwork."

Clearly, the situation calls for more ice cream. And Coulson's scotch. Skye might be mad at him but she knows where he keeps it, after all.

"She likes Doctor Who," Skye tells Jemma eventually, topping Jemma's glass up with stolen liquor. "She said to me she likes it because she 'has a thing for Brits', so uh,  _hint_. Apparently Eleven's her favourite."

"Iiiiiiiiiinteresting," Jemma says, narrows her eyes. "Skye, I think I have a  _genius idea_."

 

+

 

Now that they're not buzzed on beer and scotch and sugar, Skye's not that sure it really is a genius idea. But she'd promised Jemma she'd set the plan in motion, at least, and she's never backed down from a challenge.

"Director," she says breezily the next morning when he arrives in the kitchen. She's already done with her own breakfast, and is sitting at the table with a binder, her handbooks, and a literal pile of forms and folders. She has to admit: she's glad she was drinking with Jemma, Literal Genius Scientist. Simmons had zapped her with an injection at the end of the night, and when Skye had complained indignantly (and yeah, a little tipsily) Jemma had grinned, explained it was a hangover prevention serum. It  _works_ , too. Skye's head is clear as a bell, which is important, because she's got  _all of the paperwork in the world_.

"Skye," Coulson greets her cautiously, does a double-take as she returns to her work. "This is... unexpected."

"You made a good point," she says cheerfully, "about it being important. Or at least, it's important to  _you_. So I'm gonna try and get on top of it." Coulson's eyes go soft and warm and surprised.  _Yup_ , she thinks,  _there it is, the Phil Coulson face that makes me totally super crazy about you_. She looks away, because she's going to start giving him hearts-for-eyes if she's not careful, and turns a page. 

"Finding everything okay?" he asks, and she could swear she hears a note of amusement in his voice. 

"Yeah," she replies, "oh yeah, it's pretty straightforward, SHIELD definitely know how to make everything simple, it's not like there's  _literally a thousand forms_ to go through here. I mean," she says, looking up again, "there's  _three different forms_ about sex pollen, Coulson, I didn't even know sex pollen was a  _thing_."

"Oh sure, it's totally a thing," he says blandly. "Take a hit of sex pollen to the face and you won't forget about it in a hurry, I guarantee."

"Speaking from experience?" she asks, settling back in her chair, and Coulson's eyes sparkle as he huffs a laugh.

"That's classified," he parries, smirking, and Skye is  _seriously screwed_ with how much she's missed this, how much she just wants to pull him down into a kiss. She tamps it down, chews the end of her pen and maintains eye contact, watching as his eyes flick for just the briefest moment to her mouth. And then he's visibly pulling himself together, recovering his professional front, and she squashes a sigh.

"You know what," she says, putting things in play for Jemma's brilliant plan (or at least the half of it that Jemma's convinced will fix  _Skye's_ problem). "I have an idea."

"Oh yes?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says, still chewing her pen and lounging back in her chair. "I challenge you to a paperwork competition."

"...What," he replies, and she grins.

"Just you and me. It's a simple challenge. One month. Whichever one of us has less outstanding or incomplete filing by the end of October is the winner." Hunter laughs from where he's leaning against the fridge.

"Come on, love, that's a bit of a stacked challenge, isn't it? The Director's some kind of bizarre paperwork machine, I'm sure of it," he says. "Cut him open and you'll find stacks of requisition forms held together with GH-325 and idiot bravery." Coulson frowns.

"I'm... not sure whether I should be offended, there, but he's right," he tells Skye. "It's not a fair challenge, you're setting yourself up to lose."

"Oh  _really_ ," she says. "Then it's not a challenge you'll mind taking, will you?"

"What's at stake?" he asks, and Skye smirks too, lets just a little of her attraction show through.

"The team Halloween party Mack and Bobbi talked us into," she says. "You lose? You show up in full Captain America costume. WW2 era, not modern-day.  _Including the shield_."

" _What_ ," he says again, helplessly, and Hunter dissolves into laughter.

"God, now I desperately want to see this. Take the challenge, sir, seriously."

"What if you lose?" Coulson asks, thoughtfully, and Skye bites her lip, delicately arches an eyebrow.

"You remember how back when we first met, it came up that I might have been a, uh, 'cosplay girl' outside Stark's building?" she says casually, and Coulson's eyes widen gratifyingly. "Plus, I'll never complain about paperwork again.  _Ever_. But I think you want to see the cosplay thing more, actually."

"It's on," Coulson says. "But let's get this clear, Agent: I'm not pulling my punches. Every field, perfectly filled out. No mistakes. You'd better get used to signing in triplicate, and also dusting off that costume."

"Oh Phil," Skye returns lightly, "I am gonna wipe the floor with you."

 

+

 

" _Help_ ," she hisses at Fitzsimmons. "I said I'd wipe the floor with him but you  _guys_ , these  _forms_ , it is  _not gonna happen_."

"I don't know if we should be helping you," Jemma says cautiously, "it seems a bit  _unfair_ , really, isn't it breaking the rules a bit?"

"Jemma Simmons," Skye replies, "I will  _end you_ if you do not help me out with this, and also I will  _never help you again_ with that thing we talked about last night."

"I'll help," says Fitz, "you don't need to threaten me, I'll help, I want to see the Director in that costume. It'll be a, a hoot. Where's your field report? I'll collate a list of the forms you need."

"Fitz," Skye says sincerely, " _thanks_." Jemma sighs, makes a face and leans over Skye's shoulder to read her paperwork.

"Oh," she chimes in, "you misspelled electroencephalography." Skye groans. _  
_

 

+

 

The first week is a tie, which makes Coulson narrow his eyes suspiciously at Skye and then also at Fitzsimmons.

The second week, things are going  _okay_  (although Skye's never done so much paperwork in her life, and is wondering if Coulson does actually ever sleep) until her team takes a mission that goes on a radical left turn halfway through. It turns out the Terrigen crystals aren't just working on humans, and she really wishes she hadn't had reason to learn this.

She settles at the kitchen table, feeling like it's going to be a truly long night, and then unexpectedly Coulson joins her with his own stack of paper.

"I figured it was more companionable than being shut away in my office," he says, and offers her a Twizzler. She accepts, because hey, candy, and the first bite reminds her, immediately and forcibly, of sitting on that plane, hearing him wax lyrical about the red Corvette, the tiny and fragile and tenuously beautiful  _thing_  that had sprung up between them (and she can't tell, now, whether it was then, or later, or earlier - whether it'd maybe just started as soon as he opened the door of her van and put a damn bag over her head). She sighs, puts it out of her mind, because sometimes her pining makes herself a bit ill.

"Oh, uh," she asks, flicking through the index of the handbook (Psychic Manipulation, Acceptable Uses Of) and her field report notes. "Have you got a spare copy of the P9820?"

"' _Animal Hypnotism, Intentional'_? Sure," he replies, searches through his binder until he finds what he's looking for. "Here. I don't even want to  _know_ what your mission involved."

" _D_ _ucks_ , Coulson," Skye says flatly. " _Horse sized ducks_. Scarlet Witch had to knock 'em out psychically so we had a chance to round them all up. You're lucky I didn't bring one back for Fitz as a  _pet_." Coulson snorts with laughter, offers her another Twizzler, and if she chews it with a little too much pent-up aggression, well, she dealt with giant evil mutant ducks that day. She's not thinking about kissing Phil Coulson's (stupid, paperwork-loving) face at  _all._

 

 

+

 

The third week, Skye gets back from her latest mission and runs straight into Coulson, still in tac gear himself. He actually takes a step backward based solely on the expression of blinding fury on her face.

"Bad time?" he asks sympathetically, and she grimaces.

"Sex pollen, Phil. I should never have brought it up, I totally jinxed myself."

"What."

"Oh yeah. My whole team. Right to the face. Well, I guess it's not  _pollen_ per se. It was some kind of aerosolized chemical formula. My gut feel is they wanted an  _experiment_ on powered people and, lacking powered people in any near vicinity, faked something that we'd go and investigate, because the mission itself was a bust but let me tell you, there were a  _bunch_  of security cameras for what looked like just an old warehouse."

"Where's your team?" he queries, looking confused. "And why aren't you..."

"Sedated," she huffs shortly, casts him a sideways look. "New Inhuman metabolism's good for something. It burned the chemical straight through me, five minutes max of very firmly avoiding eye contact with  _everyone_. Now I'm just  _mad as hell_ about all this paperwork I've got. At least I've already looked up the forms for sex pollen, right." Coulson laughs, low and amused, and briefly clasps her shoulder in support. 

"Good luck with that. Oh, and by the way - if it's a spray chemical, it's not sex pollen, it's Chemical Substance, Inadvertently Inhaled." Skye sighs, makes a face, and tries to ignore the way she can still feel the warmth of his hand on her arm. She's not sure whether it's an after-effect of the chemical or just her usual heartsick self, actually, but thinking about how she wants to back Phil Coulson up against the wall isn't going to help with all her filing.

Okay, so maybe the formula hasn't burned through her quite as fast as she thought.

Coulson gives her a strange look, and she realises she's staring, glazed over, at his forearms, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He's got  _nice_ arms, she thinks fuzzily, they're- they're muscled, and tanned, and they curve down into elegant wrists, tenderly expressive hands. It's a damn shame he lost his hand, she thinks, but the robot prosthetic isn't so bad, it's modelled off his right so at least they got the shape right. She catches a glimpse of the delicate skin on the inside of his elbow, and it sets something in her burning to press her lips against it and  _bite._

"Skye?" he asks, and his voice shaping her name makes a moan rise up in her throat. She catches it just in time.

"Arms," she says, and then, "I mean, uh, it's, it's good you're getting comfortable, with, ah, your new hand. I've missed seeing you sleeves rolled up, ready for action."  _Action_ , her mind whispers, provides helpful images, and she pushes it down, clears her throat. "I, uh, I better - paperwork, um, I'll see you later. Director." She flees, ignominiously, ignoring the way everything in her is yelling  _KISS HIM_.

She needs a cold shower, and then to do all her paperwork and not think about any sexy things at all, including (especially) the Director of SHIELD.

 

+

 

"I need an edge," she tells Fitzsimmons a couple of nights later, sitting on a bench in the lab and eating Jemma's secret ice cream. "The help's been great, don't get me wrong, but we're still tied, the man can't put a foot wrong, I need something a bit more  _actively_ on my side."

" _Sabotage_ ," Fitz says gleefully, and Skye stares at him, grins.

"Yes!" she cheers, "but nothing that'll put anyone in danger, right, I just want, uh, a mess impossible to clear up with paperwork. Bonus points if it makes Coulson kind of pointlessly frustrated."

"I am fundamentally opposed to this," Jemma says, taking the ice cream away. "You've been keeping up with him so far thanks to good hard work, I don't see why you can't keep on with that."

"I've been  _tied_ thanks to good hard work," Skye reminds her, "and a tie's not enough, it's not really the floor-wiping I promised, is it."

"Still, though," Jemma replies, holding the ice cream carton out of Fitz's reach.

"Bobbi works out in the gym at 9 every morning," Skye says abruptly, switching tactics. "If you help me with this, I'll take you down and pretend to teach you how to throw a punch. I'll even make sure you don't embarrass yourself by staring too hard." Jemma, immediately distracted, drops her hand, lets Fitz take the ice cream from her. Her eyes are a bit glassy and she has a blush high across her cheeks.

"Okay," she says eventually, "I knew it, bad girl shenanigans were only a matter of time. I suppose it is kind of a  _prank_ , isn't it."

The gym session's just as awkward as Skye thought it would be - Jemma's so distracted by the sheen of sweat glimmering golden over Bobbi's back and shoulders that she actually  _misses the punching bag_ and smacks Skye in the nose - but it's worth it, three days later, when she hears Coulson get back in from mission.

" _Fitz_ ," he's hissing, "what the  _hell_ did you put in those ICER rounds?"

"We were just tinkering!" Fitz says defensively, "we thought it would be a  _good idea_ , a better sedative combination for people who don't react to dendrotoxin the way we wanted, why?"

"Don't  _tinker_ again," Coulson tells him sternly, storms off to his office, and Skye pulls Mack aside.

"Dude," she asks, "what  _happened_?"

It turns out that Fitzsimmons' 'sedative combination' experiment wound up giving every enemy agent a therapeutic dose of warm-and-fuzzies equivalent to a really good MDMA experience. "We wound up holding an impromptu talk therapy session on the plane back," Mack tells her, holding back his amusement. "One of the captured Hydra agents tried to get a  _massage train_ going.  _With Coulson as the caboose_." Skye cracks up, can't help it, laughs until she's clutching at Hunter's arm, and he gives her a perceptive look. "You didn't have any part in this, did you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Skye responds blandly, ruins it with a smirk, and disappears to the lab to congratulate Fitzsimmons on a job well done. The next time Coulson's out of his office, she leaves a toy train and a new bottle of scotch on his desk.

 

+

 

Of course, gloating leads to immediate karmic retribution, which is why she's hardly even surprised that her next mission ends with a scientist who inadvisably tried experimenting with his own take on a super-soldier formula and turned into something that looks like the  _Stay Puft Man_ , although thank god without the sailor hat and collar.

"Don't do it," she says to Coulson's team, who are  _lined up_ in the hangar waiting, as soon as she's off the plane. "Whatever it is you're planning to do,  _don't do it_."

"...Who're you gonna call," Mack gets out, his voice cracking, and hits play on the boombox he's holding. The theme song echoes out into the hangar and she groans as everyone else dissolves in laughter. She tries, she really does, to keep a straight face, but their missions have gone past weird and straight into ridiculous, and the easy laughter of the team is so good. She laughs until she's wiping tears out of her eyes, bent double with it, and as she straightens up, tugs off her gauntlets, she catches sight of Coulson leaning against the hangar doorway, casually eating marshmallow fluff out of the jar with a spoon, because apparently he has to rub the joke in just a little bit more. All the breath goes out of her lungs in a rush at the way he makes eye contact as he takes another mouthful.

"Agent," he acknowledges. He has marshmallow fluff on his lip. Skye knows she's staring, she's staring  _so hard_ , this is worse than the time with the sex pollen (Chemical Substance, Inadvertently Inhaled, she mentally corrects herself). At least the team have scattered back to whatever it was they were doing before she became the greatest new joke in the Playground. "Want a bite?" he asks, offering her the spoon.

"Sure," she says, steps closer and accepts the spoon from him. "You've got fluff on, uh," she tells him, taps her own mouth, and instead of  _wiping it away_ like a person who is not trying to kill her with tamped-down frustrated pent-up desire, Coulson drags his tongue slowly over his lip, his eyes holding hers the whole time. This is horribly unfair, Skye thinks, someone who  _stopped kissing her_ shouldn't be allowed to do this, but she doesn't say anything, just lets her gaze go hotly interested, and then leans in to spoon out a bite of fluff.

"Lots of paperwork," he breathes softly. "You'll be up all night finishing off."

"Yeah," she agrees, not stepping away, pulling open her tac vest one-handed while she steals another bite. Coulson's eyes go straight to the skin she's just revealed, and she smirks, pulls her vest off properly, lets him take in the way her cotton henley is sticking to her and just a little damply see-through. "I better get onto it." She hands him back his spoon and turns away, humming the Ghostbusters theme.

When she gets back to her bunk, on the desk is a stack of forms, carefully arranged, a cup of coffee fixed just the way she likes it, and a bag of Hershey's kisses.

 

+

 

There's only a day left before the party, and Skye's lying in her bunk  _worrying_ , because despite all her machinations she and Coulson are still tied, and god help her, she really wants to win this stupid challenge. At least in part, she admits, because her Iron Man costume is pretty embarrassing, in hindsight. 

Okay, she'll confess, she's also worrying because Coulson's out on mission and it's run over time. The team was expected back three hours ago, okay, and she's sure everything's under control, because May and Coulson are running the op, but she's still... anxious.

There's a knock on her door, and she jumps up, pulls it open. It's May, back from mission, and her arm's in a sling, but she looks... proud? Amused? Skye frowns.

"Are you okay? What  _happened?_ " she asks, and May smirks.

"Took a tumble," she says, "but don't worry, I'll be fine, it was just a brief dislocation. You're welcome."

"...What," Skye replies, because "just a dislocation" was like when Skye said "just a broken rib", aka not actually as small of a deal as May's making out, and she's deeply confused.

"I hid all of Coulson's FA100s," May explains, smirks harder. "Always wanted to see the Director dressed up as his favorite superhero, actually."

May is  _evil_ , Skye thinks, and also  _the best._

 

+

 

"Say it, Coulson," Skye says as soon as he comes in for breakfast the next morning. " _Say it_." Coulson sighs.

"You're better at paperwork than me," he mutters, very quietly. Skye grins.

"Sorry, what was that?" she asks, innocently. "I didn't quite hear you."

"You're  _better at paperwork than me_ ," he says again, his face telegraphing 'I don't believe anything I'm saying right now', "and you're a terrible, terrible cheater.  _All of you_. Don't think I don't know what happened here. May, I expected better from you, at least." Skye snickers as Fitzsimmons manage to look outraged and May just raises a casual eyebrow.

"Hope you've got your bodysuit ready," she replies. "That costume's awful tight, Phil." Coulson  _blushes_ and Skye grins wider. This is the best day  _ever._

 

 

+

 

"Are you  _sure_ I look alright?" Jemma asks fretfully, fiddling with her hair. Skye grins, glances her over.

"Yes, you look adorable," she reassures Jemma. "The bow tie and suspenders, especially, they say 'I'm the cutest tiny butch darling on the planet, please make out with me immediately'. You'll have  _no trouble._ "

"Okay," Jemma says, looking nervous but determined. "Halloween's really quite  _fun_ , isn't it? We don't really do it back home but I must admit, this is quite thrilling really. Here, look, you need a bit of lipstick, let me..." She pulls out a tube, gently applies it to Skye's mouth. "Keep this for the night," she says, tucking the tube and a mirror compact into Skye's pocket, and then steps back, looks Skye critically up and down.

"Do I... is it okay?"

"Skye," Jemma says, taking a deep breath, "I hope you know that I have a  _deep admiration_ for Peggy Carter because, ah, there's the fact that she was  _British_  and also  _started the SSR_ and she really is rather one of my personal heroes, actually, and so when I say that I am having some  _feelings_ , right now, I trust you will understand what I mean."

"Feelings, huh," Skye says teasingly. "Oh doctor my doctor." Jemma blushes, looks her up and down again.

"You are a very good friend, Skye, and you look  _excellent_ ," she says, and then more seriously, "the Director's not going to know what hit him."

"Oh I hope he will, actually," Skye smiles. "I hope he'll know  _just_ what hit him. And that it'll be me. With my mouth."

 

+

 

The hangar has been sectioned off into a slightly more manageable space, closer to the size of a school gymnasium, and is redecorated remarkably well for the party, all streamers and fairy lights, but Skye still feels transported back to a middle school dance. She just hopes she won't spend half her night sneaking wine coolers in the bathrooms and the other half throwing up wine coolers in the bathrooms. Jemma clutches at her arm nervously and squeaks, " _look_ , there's Bobbi and oh my god she's dressed as the  _Slayer_ ,  _help_." 

"Jemma," Skye says sternly, "you'll be  _fine_."

Jemma is not fine.

"Hey," Bobbi says, sauntering over to them, "nice Peggy Carter, Skye, although it's a little unsubtle, don't you think?"

"I need unsubtle," Skye laughs. "Great party set-up, by the way. I can't believe you talked Coulson into it."

"Well, we all needed a little down time, right?" Bobbi replies, smiles at Jemma. "Hey, Simmons, you look great."

"Hello," Jemma says, "you can trust me,  _I'm the Doctor_." There's a beat, where Skye holds her breath, because that's a decent flirt, okay, and then Jemma says, "that was a jooooke, you see, because I, because I  _am_ a doctor, but of course you, ah, you knew thaaaat, silly  _me_ , we've worked together for  _months_ now, of course we have, what am I saying, would you like a, a drink?"

"Sure," Bobbi replies, looking amused, and Skye drags her over to the drinks table where Hunter and Mack and Fitz are congregated.

"That was  _terrible_ , Jemma, what are you  _doing_?" 

"I don't knowwww," Jemma wails, looking panicked. "I'm not, I, you know I'm bad at this!" Skye sighs, grabs Hunter's flask of vodka out of his hand and pours Jemma a large shot.

"Oi!" he complains, and Skye shoots him a look.

"Believe me, she needs it more than you do. Jemma, drink this," she orders, hands it to Jemma, and ladles them out each a glass of punch. Jemma throws back the shot, wincing a little.

"That is  _truly dreadful_ vodka," she tells Hunter, "it's worse than the stuff Fitz and I tried to make in a homemade still in the lab once."

"Yeah, well, needs must," Hunter mutters, takes it back off Skye grumpily. Skye passes Jemma two glasses of punch, sends her back to Bobbi with a meaningful look, and steps back to watch with the others.

"What's she  _doing_?" Hunter asks, and Skye looks over at him, smirks a little.

"Trying to ask out your she-devil ex wife," she says, and Hunter winces in sympathy.

"Oh this?" they hear Jemma say from where they're all standing. "Yes, it's a sonic screwdriver, I got Fitz to make one, it doesn't  _work_ work but it is  _quite interesting_ , actually, I..."

"She spent four months lying convincingly to Hydra and she can't even flirt with her own team member," Skye sighs, sipping her drink. Fitz nods, lowers his voice confidentially.

"At the Academy she once tried to chat up a girl in our biochem class by telling her she was 'utterly fearless and she'd like to take a look at her amygdala'," he says, and they all laugh. "Yeah, she, ah, Liz told her she'd have to take her out for dinner first, which, right, even  _I_ can tell is a  _perfect hint_ , and instead of following up with, I don't know, a  _restaurant suggestion_ like a  _normal person_ , she started hypothesising out loud about neuropsychological correlates and whether or not they could get approval to use the MRI machine and how soon they could get an urgent ethics committee approval, and she didn't stop talking until Liz  _left._ That's her problem, she just blathers on like that, can't get a word in edgewise."

"Uh huh," Mack says. "Don't know what that's like at  _all_." Skye stifles a snicker, holds up her empty glass.

"I'm gonna go get more punch, okay?"

 

+

 

The hangar is full of people, and Skye wonders for a minute how everyone here even still works for SHIELD, although yeah, they've been doing better on their hit rate lately. She still hasn't spotted Coulson, and when she walks by May and Andrew (May in a perfect Batman cape and hood, Andrew in a surprisingly convincing Robin outfit), she stops to ask if they've seen him.

"Not yet," May says, and Andrew gives her a look that suggests he's psychoanalyzing her costume choice.

"Don't psychoanalyze my costume choice," she tells him, goes to get another drink, and pulls out her mirror compact to check on her lipstick. And that's when Coulson arrives, and Skye is so lost for words that she just starts laughing, in the end. 

"Yes, yes," he says dryly. "Laugh it up, Agent."

"You look  _good_ , sir," Skye tells him, and he does, he really does, even in the stupid leather helmet and chinstrap. He hefts his shield a little higher, drags his gaze down her body and then back up, and his eyes widen a little. "Good, ah, commitment to historical accuracy," he manages, and she smiles slow and deliberate.

"I'm trying to impress the man who's a nut about everything SSR, you think I'd half-ass it?" she asks, and then, "can I get you a drink?"

"Sure," he says, "why not, I need something to help with the fact that I'm about to have a conversation with Maria Hill while dressed as a sweaty cosplay parody of myself."

"Oh, but Director," Skye grins, "you work it so well."

As she's filling a glass, the volume of the music goes from 'background chatter' to 'everyone should dance right now', and she hears Bobbi say firmly, "Agent Simmons, look, I'm just... I'm gonna stop you there, okay, and then I'm going to take you on the dance floor and kiss you senseless."

"Yes," Jemma replies faintly, "yes, thank god, I think that would be  _best for everyone._ " Skye gives her a not-so-surreptitious thumbs up over Bobbi's shoulder, feeling very fond.

 

+

 

When she gets back to Coulson, he's taken his helmet off and is leaning thoughtfully against a pillar, watching everyone dance and mingle. She hands him a glass of punch, takes his shield off him and slides her arm into the strap. It's surprisingly light, she thinks, raising it up so she's peering over the top at him. "Sir, this isn't... you didn't  _actually call up Steve Rogers_ , did you?"

"Of course not," Coulson replies blandly, "it's a replica, part of my personal collection." He takes a mouthful of punch, swallows slowly and then adds, "I got it out of storage as soon as you made that challenge. Figured it was a foregone conclusion."

"What?" Skye asks, so confused she actually drops the shield. The clatter barely registers. "What about all your smack talk? And the fact that you're a  _paperwork robot_?"

"Oh yeah," Coulson says, giving her a meaningful look. "But let's be serious, Skye. You've never had any trouble getting what you want, in the end.  _Especially_ with me." And that's not what should push her over the edge, she thinks wildly, it should have been the- the ridiculous tension, or his endless, bloodless professionalism, or the fighting like they want to tear each other apart, or the crazy flirting, but it's Coulson, telling her quietly that she can have whatever she wants, especially if it's him, that takes her to pieces and leaves her breathless and blinking in the middle of a SHIELD Halloween party while dressed as Peggy fucking Carter.

"We should dance," she says, sudden and bright, because she has to say  _something_ , and 'I think I'm madly in love with you' feels like too big a lead-in. "What do you say? Gonna dance with your best girl, Cap?"

"Sure," Coulson replies, and the way he sets down their glasses and takes her hand makes her think that maybe he's heard her say what she didn't say anyway. He's very good at reading people, she thinks.

 

+

 

The music goes soft and slow as they reach the dance floor, and at first Skye thinks it's just another part of this crazy evening timing, until she sees Hunter fiddling with the ipod. Whatever, she thinks, the team's clearly on her side, as Hunter grins at her cheekily and mouthes something that looks like "snog him  _right up_ ". Nearby, Jemma and Bobbi are still dancing together, although it's not so much 'dancing' as Jemma being literally carried around the dance floor, since Bobbi's got at least six inches height on her and has just wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her up.

"Do you even know how to dance?" Coulson asks her, amused, and she gives him a look that doesn't quite reach indignant.

" _Yes_ , I know how to dance,  _sir_ ," she says, settles a hand on his shoulder and moves a little closer. He loops a hand around the small of her back, steps her into a waltz, and Skye usually tries to ignore it because she feels somehow like it's  _rude_ but she can feel his body vibrating, the steady beat of his heart. It's a little fast, she thinks, like he's nervous, and she shifts even closer, presses her body against him, feels his heart speed even faster.

" _Nervous_?" she breathes into his ear, and he shivers.

"Oh yes," he replies, his lips brushing against her hair. "Worried you might step on my toes." She laughs, rests her face against his shoulder, and he tightens his hand on her back, guides her into a turn.

"Will I?" she asks. "Get everything I want, in the end?"

"You want this," he says, like he's unsure, after all this time.

" _Yes_ ," she replies, "Jesus  _Christ,_  yes, past all the compartmentalization and the team dynamics and all of that, Coulson, I want this  _so badly_." Coulson groans, pulls back to look down at her, and the look in his eyes takes her breath away all over again. "If you're going to kiss me," she warns him, "you're not allowed to pull away this time."

He doesn't pull away. He kisses her hard and sure, for a long, long moment, and when they finally break away, it's to the rest of the team fucking  _clapping._

"We should get out of here," she suggests, "before we become any more of a floor show."

"Yeah," he agrees, leans down to kiss her again. "My quarters?"

"Your quarters," she agrees, and then, swiping her thumb across his lower lip, "sir, can I tell you how great you look in Besame Red Velvet?"

 

+

 

Coulson starts peeling her out of her clothes as soon as they reach the hallway, pushes her up against the wall and undoes her jacket, pulls her tie loose so he can kiss a line down her throat. She shivers under it, uses her combat training to turn his weight back on him, drags him into his bunk and looks helplessly at his stupid Captain America jacket.

"I don't even know where to start," she admits, and he laughs, undoes a complicated set of buckles and straps and lets her push it off his shoulders. Underneath he's wearing a plain white t-shirt and Skye almost  _growls_ , because  _goddamn_ , the man has some shoulders, alright. She bites at his collarbone (leaving more traces of Red Velvet on his skin, she notices very smugly), runs her hands up inside his shirt, and he bites back, undresses her with shaking hands.

"It's a little unusual undressing someone else in a suit and tie," he quips, and she smiles, waits for him to get her tie off and her shirt unbuttoned, because underneath she's in bright Lola-red lace and not much else. He groans again, when he sees it, touches her reverentially, and fuck,  _fuck_ , she's so in love with him.

"I hope you've already prepared your A90," she says, trying to regain equilibrium as she unzips her skirt and kicks off her heels. Coulson  _picks her up_ , letting her wrap her legs around his hips, and kisses her throat again, sucking what she  _knows_ is going to be a bruise the next day. She so does not care.

"Change of Personal Relationship? Skye, I've had it ready to file for  _months_ ," he tells her.

"Then what... then why..." she asks, confused again. "Why've you been  _tormenting me with your sexy mouth_ for months, Phil Coulson?"

"I wanted to wait," he admits, "it didn't... it wasn't the right time, then, I was too unsure, and everything felt like too much. You run your own team now. You're not my agent, you're this glorious force and I feel like, I don't know, like we can make this work, now, without it being a reaction to anything else. That's important. I'm in this for the long haul." Skye can only blink, for a minute. She feels like she'll never be done being breathless thanks to Phil Coulson.

"I stole your scotch," she says eventually, and then, "wait, what? That's not what I- I'm in love with you, actually, that's what I was going for."

"I know," he replies, kisses her sharp and hard and full of dirty promise.

"You know  _what_?" she demands, breaking away, and he gives her a look that's so perfectly Coulson, all teasing flirtation under a veneer of bland professionalism.

"Both," he says lightly. "You think I didn't know who was sneaking into my office? But of course I know you're in love with me, Skye, I've been in love with you for basically forever. Even when you're a  _total jerk_ about it."

"...Oh," she manages, and thinks, yes, they're both getting everything they want, tonight, because everything they want is  _each other_ , has been for basically forever, and the promise of it feels as crazy and dizzy and beautiful as any force of nature.


End file.
